


You'll Thank Me

by yourebrilliant



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourebrilliant/pseuds/yourebrilliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he visits Unit A, Neal meets the person who left him the cryptic note.  But all is not as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Thank Me

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 1.14 Out of the Box through to 2.16 Under the Radar, inclusive

He saw the note as soon as he opened the door; a small white envelope under a silver key. He immediately crossed the room and snatched it up. Inside there was a plain white card with an address and a note that had been typed on a typewriter:

77850 GANESVOORT ST  
UNIT A  
NEW YORK, NY

YOU’LL THANK ME

He stared from the note to the key for a moment. After the day he’d had, he wasn’t really in the mood for more cloak and dagger. Still, he’d always been intrigued by a mystery.

Unit A, when he found it, was unlit with only the green light above the doorway to stop him from potentially tripping and breaking his neck on the contents of the warehouse. For a moment he considered calling Peter, (what if one of his old enemies had lured him out for revenge?) but anger washed over him at the thought. Peter had given up on him; what would he care if Neal was found dead in some warehouse with a bullet wound?

His mind made up, Neal strode forward. It was only when he rounded a ceiling-high stack of wooden crates that he realised the warehouse _was_ lit. The pale glow of the bulb, previously obscured by the crates, washed over him and the bounty it displayed. Slowly turning in a circle, Neal stared in awe at the contents of Unit A. He could barely believe it; all the treasure, all the beautiful masterpieces that he had thought destroyed in a fire _he_ was blamed for, they were all here. Neal grinned; _this_ would show Peter.

‘So,’ said a voice before Neal could reach for his phone, ‘whaddya think of my little gift, Caffrey?’ Neal spun on one heel, stepping back instinctively as Matthew Keller stepped into the light. ‘Quite the yard sale, huh?’ He moved further into the room, looking approvingly around them.

‘Keller?’ Neal managed. ‘You’re better dressed than the last time I saw you,’ he commented.

Keller laughed harshly. ‘Well, orange rarely flatters. But you knew that, right Caffrey?’

‘Why are you doing this? You know I can’t let you take this.’

‘Is that right?’ Keller asked, leaning casually against one of the crates. ‘What’re you gonna do, call your pet Fed?’ Before Neal could respond, Keller raised a hand. ‘That’s one option, I suppose. And maybe he’d believe you, and maybe, _maybe_ , I’d still be here when him and his crew arrived. Maybe. But let me offer you another option, Caffrey.’

Neal wanted to say no, wanted to tell Keller to get lost, but something (anger, shock) held back the words and instead he asked, ‘What option?’

Keller smiled predatorily. ‘Smart man. Option two is this; you and I split the loot, and we disappear. There’s enough here for you to get so far from your Fed that he’d never find you.’

‘No, Peter always finds me,’ Neal said, trying not to think about the mix of pride and resentment that he couldn’t quite bleach from his tone.

Keller shrugged. ‘Then I guess you’re not as smart as you think you are. You must have _some_ alias the Bureau don’t know about.’

Neal considered Keller’s suggestion. He was pretty sure Peter knew about all his existing aliases, but maybe it was time for a new one. ‘Why are you doing this?’ Neal asked the question that had struck him as soon as he found the note. ‘You could just take the whole lot and disappear, why risk sharing it with me?’

Keller sighed and retrieved one of his beloved cigars from the top pocket of his silver suit. ‘You’re a problem to me, Caffrey,’ he admitted, lighting the cigar and blowing smoke at the light fitting above. ‘As much as I hate to say it, you’re a smart guy. Now,’ he drew in another breath, ‘when we’re both on the same side of the law, that’s not a problem. But you turning into a lawman, that gives me a problem.’

Keller’s words floated back to him like the smoke from his cigar _You’re starting to sound like a lawman, Caffrey._ Was he? Some days it felt like it took him a few minutes to remember who Neal Caffrey was.

‘So you see,’ Keller said, seemingly oblivious to Neal’s thoughts, ‘if I take the whole lot, I got you’ Keller, gestured to Neal with the glowing tip of his cigar, ‘ _and_ your Fed on my tail. Whereas, if I split this with you, I still got quite the pension _and_ I only got one of yous gunning for me. And the Feds? I can avoid them.’ He paused to take another draw from the cigar. ‘So, whaddya say?’

What _did_ he say? The Neal Caffrey who stole the Antioch Manuscripts would say yes, would grab his half and disappear without a thought. But he wasn’t that Neal anymore, was he? But if he _wasn’t_ that Neal, who did that make him? Was he a con, or a man?

‘Neal?’ Neal’s head whipped around at the familiar voice.

‘ _Elizabeth_?’ he called, shocked.

‘Neal, sweetie, it’s El, can you hear me?’ Neal frowned. He paced the unit, striding past an unconcerned Keller, looking for a face to go with the voice. ‘Honey,’ El said, her voice muffled as if she’d turned away, ‘I think we’re losing him.’

‘Hey, Sundance,’ came Peter’s gruff voice, warm and friendly and so different from the angry, hurt tone Neal had heard last, ‘it’s Butch. Listen-’

‘Peter, where are you?’ Neal asked desperately, searching frantically for the partner he could hear but not see.

‘-you need to come home,’ Peter said. ‘We need you to catch the bad guys. Cause that’s what us lawmen do, remember?’ Something pressed against Neal’s fingers, and he looked down to see his plastic Sherriff’s badge pressed against his palm. Keller made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. In a quieter voice, Peter said, ‘If you don’t come back,’ he swallowed, his voice thick with pain, ‘I can’t come after you this time.’ Neal raised a hand to his shoulder where pressure had formed, like a gripping hand.

Keller gave a feral grin and stood up from the crates. ‘See,’ he said, arms spread wide, ‘nobody’s chasing you, Neal. You’re free to go.’

‘No,’ Neal said, his head fuzzy for some reason, ‘that’s not what he said.’ Why could he see _Keller_ so clearly and not see Peter or El at all?

‘Peter,’ El’s voice again, fainter this time, ‘it’s not making a difference.’ Neal closed his eyes at the pain in her voice. He’d only heard that tone from her once before, when Peter was kidnapped. By Keller.

‘Why am I even listening to you?’ he asked suddenly. ‘No, I’m not leaving.’ As soon as he said it, Neal felt better.

‘I guess you’re not the Caffrey I remember,’ Keller said, his tone derisive.

‘No,’ Neal said defiantly, feeling stronger every time he said it, ‘I’m not that Neal Caffrey anymore.’

‘Peter?’ El’s voice seemed stronger now, closer. If only he could _see_ her.

‘Then I guess we have no further business,’ Keller said, taking another draw on his cigar and turning away. ‘Turn the light out when you leave, Caffrey,’ he said.

Suddenly, there was darkness. Pitch black, not even the green glow from the outside light.

‘Peter?’ Neal called, his voice thick, words slurred for some reason. ‘’lisbeth?’

‘Neal!’ He could hear El holding back the tears even as he felt her soft fingers against his. On his other side, Peter flexed his hand against Neal’s shoulder.

‘Can you open your eyes, buddy?’ Peter asked quietly.

‘’course,’ Neal slurred, wondering why Peter was asking such an odd question. However, he soon discovered that it took a great deal of effort to pry his lashes apart.

‘Wait a second,’ El said, ‘keep your eyes closed.’ She murmured something to Peter and then Neal felt a soft, damp washcloth being brushed gently over his eyes, sweeping away sleep sand that seemed to have collected in the corners. ‘Okay, sweetie,’ El said, ‘try again.’

This time it was much easier, and Neal lifted his lashes to let the subdued lighting filter through. Peter was standing on one side of him, a new frown line marring his forehead despite his brave smile. El was on the other side, perched on the edge of the bed as she gently swabbed his face with the washcloth, brushing sweat soaked hair off his forehead, her gentle fingers stroking his cheeks.

‘Hi,’ he managed, and El let out a laugh that was part sob.

‘Hi, sweetie,’ she managed. ‘Gave us quite a scare there. No,’ she said, reaching out to stop him pulling at the breathing tubes in his nose, ‘leave those in.’ Neal let his arm drop to one side, alarmed at how weak he felt. His gaze drifted beyond El’s concerned gaze to take in his surroundings. He could see the edge of a curtain behind El, hints of a larger room beyond this bed. It seemed, somehow, familiar.

‘Where am I?’ he asked. Peter sighed, shifting in his chair. ‘You’re in a hospital, Neal.’

‘Really?’ Neal asked, shocked. So that was why, it must be the same hospital they had taken Mozzie to. ‘What happened?’

El looked at Peter, who pursed his lips before answering. ‘You fell, when the plane exploded, do you remember the plane?’ he asked. Neal nodded, his mind spinning. The plane? Kate’s plane? It couldn’t be, could it?. Peter drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, you fell and cracked your head on the tarmac. I got you here as soon as I could, but there was some bleeding in your brain and they had to operate.’ Peter nodded to Neal’s head and he lifted the hand El had been holding to check the damage. It was there, towards the back, a patch of bare skin where hair had been, a square of cloth with hospital tape at the edges.

‘That explains the headache,’ he muttered. El frowned.

‘I’ll see if I can get you anything for that. We should tell the doctor that you’re awake anyway.’ She made to move away from the bed, then paused and leaned back over. ‘I’m so glad you came back,’ she whispered, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. ‘I’ll get you some juice, too,’ she said, standing and disappearing into the hall.

‘So, have I still got all my lobes?’ Neal asked, scared by the fear and relief he had seen in El’s eyes. Her words haunted him _I’m so glad you came back_ , had it all been a dream? Everything since the plane?  
Peter gave a tight laugh. ‘According to the doctors all they did was drain the blood and close the wound. I’m sure Mozzie’ll have a different opinion.’

‘Moz!’ Neal reached out, grasping Peter’s arm, his eyes wide. ‘Was he shot?’ he asked, urgently.

‘Shot?’ Peter looked confused. ‘No, he’s fine. I should let him know you’re awake. He won’t come down here but he made me promise to let him know immediately.’ Peter looked pained. ‘I had to take an oath.’ He looked away from the bed, lips pressed together, torn between his need to stay beside Neal and the knowledge that Mozzie would never trust him again if he broke this promise.’

Neal smiled weakly. ‘Go, tell him. El’ll be back any minute.’

Peter stared at him for a long minute. Leaning close, he wrapped Neal in a tight embrace, his face tilted into Neal’s shoulder. Reaching up, Neal wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, unable to do more than rest them there lightly. Before either of them could get too emotional, Peter laughed and stood up again. ‘Don’t scare me like that, again,’ he said, punching Neal lightly on the shoulder. ‘I can’t afford the grey hairs.’

Neal smiled. ‘It’s a good look,’ he said, ‘makes you look dignified. Now we just need to get you a better suit.’

Peter smiled gently, letting the jibe pass. On his way out, he rested his hand on Neal’s leg, pressing briefly against the blanket before moving on to find a phone.

 

For the rest of the day, Neal faded in and out of dreamless sleep. The doctor came by to examine him in one of Neal’s waking periods. He was happy with Neal’s condition, but wanted to keep him in overnight to be sure. Neal was vaguely aware of El and Peter trading off. Phoning their colleagues, getting food from the canteen. Peter phoned the office and put Neal on speakerphone with Diana, Jones, and Lauren so they could hear for themselves that he was okay.

 

Later, much later, Neal opened his eyes to find the lights dimmed, a single lamp illuminating a patch of light. Peter was slumped awkwardly in a hospital chair, eyes closed, sleeping lightly. He had insisted El go home. Confused, Neal looked around, wondering what had woken him up.

‘Fate leads the willing and drags along the unwilling.,’ a soft voice murmured from the darkness.

Neal frowned. ‘Mozzie?’ he whispered.

‘Shh, no names!’ the man cautioned, stepping closer to the light. He was dressed as an orderly, the clothes slightly too big for his diminutive frame.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Neal whispered, reaching out one hand. Mozzie gripped it tightly.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said, shrugging, ‘I just don’t trust the Suit, wanted to check for myself.’

‘I dreamt you were shot,’ Neal murmured, his mind buzzing.

Mozzie laughed quietly. ‘As if they’d ever get me. I’m a ghost, man. I’m untouchable.’

Neal smiled, reassured. ‘How...how long was I out?’ he asked.

Mozzie sighed. ‘According to the Suits you were in a medically induced coma for a few weeks.’ Neal frowned, _medically induced coma_ , like Moz, when he was shot. Only, he wasn’t shot, ‘cause it was all a dream. Neal’s brain hurt. He tried to focus on Mozzie words. ‘Once the doctor’s decided you were out of the worst of it they started easing off on the drugs to let you come round in your own time.’

A few weeks. Could Keller, Fowler, Adler, everything since the plane, all be a dream, the delirium of a medical coma? ‘Huh,’ he said quietly, ‘felt like longer.’

‘That’ll be the mind control compound they put in your IV,’ Moz advised him. ‘Get that thing out as soon as possible.’

Neal smiled, some things never changed. ‘I’ll do that,’ he murmured.

Moz nodded, smiling crookedly at him. ‘June’s coming ‘round tomorrow,’ he said. Peter stirred in his sleep. ‘Time for a swift exit, I think.’ Mozzie turned to leave. ‘Oh, I thought you might want this,’ he reached out and dropped something on Neal’s head. ‘Cover up that lobotomy scar.’

‘Moz, it wasn’t a lobotomy.’

‘Sure, kid, that’s what they told _you_.’ Mozzie grinned at him, and disappeared.

Reaching up, Neal found his favourite fedora resting crookedly on his head. Gently, he smiled and angled it better. He wondered what would happen when he went back to work. Would he still have all these memories of things that hadn’t happened, conversations he’d never had, or would it all fade like the memory of a dream?

‘Oh, good,’ a voice drawled, sleepily, ‘you’ve got the hat back.’ Neal smiled at Peter. Despite his tone, Peter was smiling a little and suddenly Neal felt better. He wasn’t on his own anymore. There had been a time when having so many people in his life would have made him want to run for the hills, but now he was glad to have so many people care about him, look out for him.

‘Go back to sleep, Peter,’ he whispered, still smiling, ‘I’m okay.’


End file.
